


Lord of the Dance

by DrakkHammer



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Anal Sex, Britchell, Feels, Fluff, Irish dancing, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrakkHammer/pseuds/DrakkHammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is still new to this whole love and commitment thing, but he's working on it.  Mitchell loves his hot boyfriend even if he is sometimes as dense as a brick.  He also loves to dance. When the music carries Mitchell back to his youth and his feet find the rhythm, Anders finds that the love of his life is a wild Gael whose feet are wings and whose heart is fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord of the Dance

Lord of the Dance

A Rún mo chroí (a roon mac cree) Oh love of my heart

It had been a long week. Their wildly different personalities caught fire in the bedroom, but often drew sparks outside of it as well. Sometimes Anders got fed up with Mitchell’s angst and constant worry about trying to fit in as a normal human when he patently had not been one in well over a century. Mitchell, in turn, found Ander’s selfishness annoying and his sarcasm grating. When fed up clashed with annoyance there tended to be harsh words and hurt feelings on both sides. This had been one of those weeks.

Anders had been entirely too interested in the sashaying derriere of the blonde who entered the elevator after them. She’d given the well-dressed Anders an appraising look (ignoring Mitchell in his jeans and Tee) and then turned and proceeded to find ways to shift her weight and therefore her ass for her entire interminable journey to the 10th floor. The ride to the 28th floor was made in an uncomfortable silence. Mitchell, who was still in the sight-seeing phase of his move to Auckland, had begged to come along on Anders’ trip to meet with a client just so he could see the Vero Centre and had heartily wished he’d stayed home.

“Well, so what if I did?” he’d snapped when Mitchell finally broke silence to point out that his eyes had never left the blonde’s ass for the entire ride. “Besides it’s my business who or what I look at. I’m a big boy now, John.” He only called the vampire John when he wanted to annoy him.

Anders, who had never had an exclusive relationship in his life, didn’t know what Mitchell problem was and refused to entertain the possibility that he’d be jealous if the situation had been reversed. 

“Don’t make such a deal of it. If she was coming onto you I’d just think it was funny.” He grinned shaking his head. But then he added. “You act like we’re exclusive.”

That Anders wouldn’t care if she’d approached Mitchell punched a hole in his very thin armor and he bit his lower lip and remained quiet for the rest of the ride. Damn it he _wanted_ Anders to care! He wanted the man he’d moved to the other side of the earth for to want…no…demand that he be exclusive. He was still nervous that he was just another notch in the god’s very scarred belt. Anders could be such a dick sometimes. 

Anders looked over at Mitchell standing next to him in tight silence. He knew from that look that there were tears held back behind those amazing chocolate eyes. He could have made it better simply by squeezing the Irishman’s hand, but something held him back. Instead he stared straight ahead, fixing his mind on what to say at his coming meeting.

He stole a sideways glance and saw that the vampire looked less hurt and more resigned. This gave his conscience a tug, but he suppressed it easily. Mitchell wore his heart on his sleeve, not a good thing around the God of Bullshit. It was one of the things that had made Anders decide to try the other side of the fence. He’d never met anyone so open, so raw with what he needed and what he could give. Being in advertising he was used to lies and pretense. Meeting someone who was so incredibly honest and unguarded was literally a life-changing experience. Of course Mitchell had the habit of being utterly sincere while completely lying to himself and that didn’t help things any. But he tried. He tried too damned hard a lot of the time. It was weird how important being human was to him while all Anders thought about was how to not be human anymore and to finally become Bragi. 

Anders had gone off to his appointment with his client and Mitchell had continued up to the observation deck. The Vero Centre was Auckland’s tallest building and the view was breathtaking. In moments he’d forgotten the twinge of pain from the incident on the elevator and lost himself in the splendor that was Auckland. He didn’t know what fascinated him more, the view of the sky, the crystal blue of the Harbour, or the city that was his new home. He spent a lot of time looking and dreaming of the future. For the first time in decades he thought he might actually have one and it was exhilarating. He was watching a cloud formation morph into a dragon when suddenly he remembered that he was supposed to meet Anders in the coffee shop and bolted for the elevator. 

He entered the coffee shop at a jog and spotted Anders looking around for him with thin-lipped impatience. He knew his boyfriend wouldn’t be interested in what he’d seen or dreamed, or cloud-dragons for that matter. He was a realist and sometimes Mitchell wondered if he ever had dreams other than to finally be a powerful god. Well, he refused to stop dreaming, or watching the clouds…or… Anders spotted him and when he turned toward Mitchell the light caught his eyes making them blaze as blue as the waters of Waitemata Harbour. The vampire’s heart skipped a beat and he grinned in appreciation. Anders gave him a tight smile in return and rose to meet him.

“I’m sorry, I forgot about the time. It’s so amazing here, everything is so beautiful,” Mitchell gushed even though he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t.

Anders nodded, “Well you have made me late for my next appointment. Try to keep the sightseeing to a minimum when you’re with me, okay?” 

He saw the smile fade from Mitchell eyes and mentally kicked himself. Old habits die hard. “I’m being a prick again. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” His eyes crinkled at the corners and his dimples did their thing totally distracting Mitchell. The smile in his eyes came back and Anders looked up at him once again wondering how it was that he had come back from England with an Irish vampire as a boyfriend. When the smile reached Mitchell lips, Anders stopped wondering. He also stopped himself from kissing that gorgeous boyfriend of his right there in the middle of the coffee shop. His own grin widened, that would raise a few eyebrows and probably a few fists in enthusiastic support. He chuckled and took Mitchell arm, leading him out of the door.

The blonde had only been the first of several skirmishes that week though and some were not so easily resolved. Dawn was curious who this good looking guy was who popped into the office. Ty had asked several pointed questions as well. Shit! The last thing he wanted to do was give his brothers more ammo to use against him. Mitchell was pressing to be properly introduced and chafed at being hidden away as if Anders was ashamed of him.

“Why won’t you tell Dawn at least?” Mitchell had demanded. “She keeps giving me the eye.”

“The eye?” Anders asked tiredly. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Mitchell dragged his fingers through his curls. “Well it’s nice that maybe she fancies me and all, but it’s bloody distracting because she really starts to smell eatable when she gets like that.”

“I thought you were clean,” Anders replied tightly.

“I am, but I’m an addict and you don’t wave heroin in front of a hype. It’s always one day at a time and always will be. You knew that from the start,” he said defensively.

The blond nodded, “Yeah, I did and I’m glad I don’t smell like a snack to you, but no matter how Dawn smells I don’t think it’s the right time to tell her that I’m…”

“Gay? Bi? Confused?” Mitchell snapped back, eyes dark and unreadable. “I can’t live my life being your dirty little secret.”

It was Anders turn to look angsty. “I didn’t mean that you should.” He stood up and walked over to the vampire and stood looking up at him but not touching. “I don’t want this to evolve into another fight. I just don’t know how to handle this or my feelings for you either.”

Mitchell snorted with a smile almost hovering around his lips. “I guess we are both fucked then.”

The god laughed. “Yeah, I think we are. Look, it’s Saturday night, let’s go out and get wasted.”

“That’s your solution for everything,” Mitchell said shaking his head. “How do you have any liver left?”

“Damn if I know. It will require more fieldwork to find out though. Supper first and then a good bar.” He picked up his jacket -- even when he was going drinking he was dressed like a fashion ad.

“Something with pasta to sop up all the alcohol,” Mitchell stated. He picked up his jacket too, the Army surplus one he fell in love with and Anders bought for him on their second date. “I get to pick the bar and I want something Irish. I demand a pub crawl.”

“Done.” A pub crawl it would be, possibly with emphasis on the crawl.

When they entered the second pub Mitchell felt immediately at home. The warm wooden walls, curved ceiling beams and gleaming length of polished oak bar reminded him of home. His real home in Dublin, a place he had not dared to return for more than a century. The ghosts of his family and lost love haunted that fair city and he’d vowed never to go back. But here on the wall were the hand painted coats of arms for all the counties of his home. His eyes dwelled on the raven standing on a hurdle sable and it brought back everything about Dublin. When his throat didn’t constrict he gave a little inward smile. Perhaps some of the ghosts had finally been laid to rest.

He and Anders took seats at the bar fairly close to the stage. The band was on break but the bartender promised they would return soon as he set Mitchell’s Guinness and Ander’s martini in front of them. For his part the Kiwi felt out of place although he admitted that this pub was better than the last one. He knew squat about Ireland but he was willing to bet that shamrocks were not a major part of the décor in a real pub. From the way Mitchell was still looking around all wide-eyed he was betting that this was as far as their pub crawl was going to get unless the band sucked.

It didn’t.

They watched the motley group of four took the stage and both of them had prepared to be underwhelmed. The boys were wearing jeans, boots and ratty t-shirts. They hefted old well-used instruments and then proceeded to fill the pub with a wall of sound. It was the most glorious music Mitchell had heard in decades. It took Anders a bit longer to get his ears accustomed to the pipes, but he’d liked the drums right away. They were large, deep and thundered instead of rattling. The fourth member was on an electric guitar which should have sounded out of place, but truth be told nothing less would have been audible above the drums and pipes. The guitarist and piper vied with one another for dominance while the drums mediated the battle. They played nothing Mitchell had ever heard before. He was instantly in love.

“Who are they?” Mitchell shouted at the barman.

“Clan Gael. Kick arse don’t they?” was the equally shouted reply.

“Jaysus,” Mitchell said as much to himself as the barman.

They listened and one tune led to another, none of them having a chorus – all of them calling to any drop of Irish blood the listener possessed. Anders found that he must have more than a few drops because he was as spellbound as Mitchell.

The vampire emptied his Guinness and was halfway through another when Clan Gael struck up a rousing number that boiled the blood and made Irish toes itch to dance. Mitchell hadn’t danced in so many decades he no longer remembered the last time, but suddenly he found himself headed for the empty area in front of the band. He wobbled a little, but stabilized and slammed his heel on the floor and then he turned it loose.

His feet hit perfectly with each drum strike. Unlike classic step dancers his hands and arms were not pinned; he had too much raw energy to be so confined. He danced the way he had so many years ago in his favorite Dublin pub where convention and form were thrown to the winds and anything went. His hands were like the ravens of the Dublin coat of arms flying and accenting his steps and twirls. His curls spilled forward to tangle over flashing dark eyes. He grinned from ear to ear as the joy of the music filled him and fired his blood.

Anders jaw dropped as he watched his wild Gael dance. Maybe Michael Flatley was faster with better form but in the god’s opinion compared to Mitchell he was a rank amateur. Mitchell was the Lord of the Dance. Ancient Ireland burned in the vampire’s eyes and he threw off the cloak of civilization, turning dance into sexual energy high and raw.

Suddenly another dancer appeared on the floor across from him. His challenge had been met. Mitchell grinned wolfishly, acknowledging that he accepted the thrown gauntlet.

The man who challenged had flaming red hair that fell to his waist in a shimmer. He was bearded and moustached, knotwork tats spilling down both arms, looking for all the world like a Celtic warrior come back through time. He was as tall as Mitchell, but broader in the shoulder. Like the vampire he had long slender legs corded with steel and shod in boots that slammed the wood floor with the beat of the drums.

Unlike Mitchell, he was a trained traditional step dancer and an incredibly good one. They started out together spinning around the floor in a duel of strength and style. The drums rolled and their hearts pounded. The redhead’s form was perfect, Mitchell’s form was feral. Then as one they broke the duel to dance one at a time, one watching while the other challenged. Equals they soared, each pressing the other to do more; faster, more intricate, to step harder, step higher, kick higher still. The band was into it and they played for the dancers, keeping the beat even and fast. The patrons pushed forward to watch and Anders suddenly found that his power also let him get through a rowdy crowd of Irish to watch his boyfriend dance.

Finally the redhead could not keep up and he bowed in defeat. Mitchell accepted his surrender with grace and a hug. Laughing he wove his way through the crowd accepting kudos and congratulations. He asked the barman to send a round of drinks to his opponent’s table and then turned to Anders his lips smiling, but his eyes smoky and dark.

“Did you like my dancing?” he asked softly, his voice low and full of promise.

“I’ve never ever seen anything like it,” the god replied, his Kiwi accent turning the e’s to i’s which never failed to enchant Mitchell.

“Would you like to see more of it?” The smoky proposition was as blatant as the hand he ran up Ander’s thigh to brush his erection.

“I’d love to; let’s get the hell out of here!” The barman was paid, a round a drinks set to the band and a hefty tip was left all in the space of the blink of an eye. The barman was grinning as they left. He’d seen the hand on the thigh and truly wished them both a good night and a speedy return.

They didn’t make it to the car before Anders pulled him into an embrace, standing tiptoe to reach Mitchell’s lips, his erection pressing hard against the vampire’s thigh. A passing car slowed to catcall and encourage them and then sped away, the occupants hooting and laughing. Neither of them heard it or saw it, they were lost in each other. Mitchell’s blood was boiling, still throbbing with the rhythm of the drums. He was dripping sweat and pulled Anders to him claiming him as he had claimed victory on the dance floor. The Irishman was steaming hot and smelled of good sex. His dripping curls trailed down the side of his face, one draped artlessly over his eye. Those amazing eyes were black, the pupils blown wide with lust. He looked down at the Norse god and smiled lovingly. Upon reflection Anders would realize that this was when he acknowledged to himself that he would never want anyone else – ever.

The drive home was at warp-speed, Anders hoping that he could Bragi-talk any passing cop out of a citation. Mitchell ran his hand up the inside of his beautiful Kiwi’s thigh until forcibly stopped. “Please stop that or I will crash the car.” The swerve he’d involuntarily made just before his plea convinced the wild Irishman to keep his hands to himself – at least until they were parked.

Once parked at Anders’ place they managed to peel themselves apart long enough to get inside the door and then Mitchell was almost forcibly divesting him of his clothes heedless of buttons and damage. For his part, Anders yanked Mitchell’s Tee over his head and buried his face in damp chest hair, licking his way to a sensitive nipple to take it first gently between his teeth and then to nip it until the vampire moaned and shivered. He liked that he knew Mitchell’s hot switches, he liked it a lot.

Between kisses on the way to the bedroom Mitchell managed to ask if he should take a shower since he was still overheated and sweating. Ander’s answer was a growl of protest. He’d never had hot sweaty Mitchell before and he was damned sure going to have him now. His scent was intoxicating; it was a combination of musk from hormones and spice from his aftershave. Anders thought that if he could bottle it they would get rich.

When they got to the bed, Mitchell simply fell backward onto it taking Anders with him. He rolled pinning the god and lay full length on top of him. His damp curls spilled down onto the god’s face, soft and tempting. Anders wound his fingers in them pulling Mitchell to him demanding his lips. The Irishman took the hint and started to kiss him, sucking his lower lip and licking his tongue, lips, teeth and then probing deeply into his mouth drawing forth moans of lust. His hands were skimming up and down Ander’s body, just sliding against his skin, petting and teasing and setting nerve endings on fire.

When he could take it no longer, Anders tensed and flipped Mitchell over dominating the kisses with licks and nibbles, nips and a duel of tongues that had his partner moaning softly as he pressed upward begging the god for more. Anders moved his kisses down Mitchell’s neck, slick with sweat, his tongue loving the taste and feel of the damp flesh. He worked his way down to the vampire’s nipples, sucking one and teasing the other with light pinches and tugs. He slid even lower following the trail of sweat-slick hair and skin. He paused at Mitchell’s navel. He loved the way the hair flared out here as if forming a pool before trickling on down. Anders nuzzled that circle of hair for a moment before starting the slow torturous descent downward.

Mitchell watched his lover, the light from the hall illuminating the bedroom with a warm yellow glow that set Ander’s crisp golden waves shining. He loved to watch as much as he loved to feel what the beautiful god was doing to him. He adored seeing the huge blue eyes turn black with lust and those delicious dimples deepen when he smiled in pleasure. It was as if seeing Anders’ pleasure made it all the more real somehow.

He watched as well as felt Anders lift his cock and stroke it gently, teasing him, looking up and smiling, acknowledging that they were both going to love what he was going to do next. Mitchell was hard as a rock; his foreskin pulled most of the way back, the dark head of his cock shining with pre-come, the shaft twitching in anticipation. Anders loved the heat of it, the weight of the shaft in his hand, the difference in their builds – Mitchell longer, the god thicker. He slowly lowered his head and licked, sliding his tongue across the silken surface, probing the eye and then teasing Mitchell’s foreskin. He slid his tongue under the rim of it and lifted it a little, licking the incredibly sensitive tissue beneath. That was when Mitchell stopped being able to see anything and lay back, his hands digging desperately at the mattress to keep from grabbing Anders’ head.

The god slowly descended taking as much as he comfortably could, using expert fingers on the remainder. He began to move slowly up and down, sucking and releasing, swirling the head, teasing the eye and the foreskin and then beginning the maddening descent again. Mitchell’s head was thrown back, his eyes almost as black as when he vamped out. He was in total control of that with Anders, who inspired only lust and the desire to give and receive pleasure. He moaned and then cursed softly in Gaelic, his accent and descent back to the language of his childhood never failing to fire Ander’s blood. 

Gradually Anders brought his fingers up the inside of Mitchell’s thighs and the Irishman spread his legs to give his lover access. Slowly, teasingly gentle fingers toyed with and then rolled his balls, cupping them and squeezing ever so tenderly before slipping up the sweat slick trail that led to the hidden seat of pure pleasure. When his fingers circled the entrance, Mitchell nearly lost it and rolled, pulling Ander’s mouth off of his throbbing cock. The Kiwi groaned at the loss, but allowed his partner to set the pace, wanting this to last as long as possible.

Mitchell reached over and took lube and condoms out of the drawer. He handed the tube to Anders allowing their fingers to tangle for a moment during the transfer. He laid back down stretching and relaxing, heaving a sigh at the pleasure he knew was to come, content and happily in love with the beautiful golden Kiwi who made his heart sing.

Anders squeezed a generous portion of lube, warmed it for a moment and then applied it with more care than necessary. He enjoyed being infinitely slow, teasing, tempting making Mitchell beg him before he’d slowly slip a single finger inside only to tease some more. Even when he’d been the god of fucking anything female that moved, he’d always enjoyed the slow hand method, getting off on giving as much pleasure as possible. He loved anything that put him in control. It used to be pure male dominance but now it was all about making his glorious Irishman go out of his mind with pleasure. 

_“A rún!”_ Mitchell moaned, _” A Rún mo chroí!”_ he sighed. “Oh…love of my heart,” he made himself translate for Anders. “More please. More…”

Slowly Anders slid in a second finger, moving them in and out, tugging the entrance just a little, then a third finger which made Mitchell buck nearly off of the bed. Smiling happily to himself he turned his fingers probing until he found what his was looking for located just inches inside on the top. When he hit the Irishman’s prostrate there was no translating the string of Gaelic endearments and curses that erupted. Anders didn’t need to know what was being said; the language of lust and love is universal. He worked his fingers in and out until he had Mitchell sobbing and cursing with every thrust. Finally he felt the Irishman’s body accept the invasion and loosen completely.

“Oh Jaysus Anders, fuck me…fuck me please,” Mitchell begged, his voice hoarse and deep with lust. “Need…need you so bad…need…” The rest was lost in a mix of moans and muttered Gaelic.

Always glad to accommodate his partner he withdrew his fingers slowly and turned his body to lay across Mitchell again, stealing more kisses as they moved like dancers each accommodating the other. He slid a pillow under the vampire’s hips to give himself better access without the restriction of having legs pinning his shoulders. He slid the condom on, slathered lube over himself and then pressed the head of his throbbing cock against Mitchell sphincter and paused.

“Oh ya beautiful fuckin’ bastard, push it in,” the Irishman pleaded, rearing up to look into Anders’ eyes. “I want you in me, fuck me slow and fuck me hard.”

“I love it when you tell me what you want,” the god said grinning. “Tell me more.”

Mitchell slammed his head back onto the bed. “Ya Kiwi prick. Ram me for the love of god.”

Anders pushed the head in and paused again. “Which god…for the love of which god?”

“Jaysus, the god of promises – you…you bloody bastard. Yer the god of making me fuckin’ crazy.”

Anders thrust, sliding all the way, feeling the way open for him as the vampire rose nearly off of the bed in response. “Do you like being fucked by a god?”

“I love it as much as you love being fucked by a vampire,” was the gasping response.

“Then I guess we both love it,” Anders panted as he moved smoothly in and out. “Love it! I love fucking you, John Mitchell. Love it!”

He reached around and took the vampire’s cock in his hand, moving lubed fingers up and down the shaft, stroking and squeezing in time with his own thrusts. He was feeling his orgasm building, pressing at the base of his spine and moving through his body to center in his cock and balls, demanding the release he’d been needing since he watched Mitchell dance wild and free. His hand sped up and Mitchell arched into it, his hands flying over Ander’s shoulders and back as graceful as they had been when he danced.

In his mind, Anders saw him on the dance floor, stamping, kicking -- the wild free Gael with no cares, no angst only joy to lift him as high as the heavens themselves. He fixed that in his mind. Looking down into Mitchell’s eyes, he went looking for his wild Irishman. When he found him Mitchell lost his mind and came arching up, shooting burst after burst of pearly semen across his god’s fingers and onto both their bellies. Lost in the dance, Anders thrust once, twice and then came so hard he couldn’t even think -- he could only feel as he poured himself into the love of his life.

He collapsed down onto Mitchell who welcomed his weight. Rolling over for a moment he disposed of the condom and then resumed his position, sprawled full length, enjoying the feel of the Irishman’s strong lithe body under his. Mitchell stretched and wound his arms around Anders, pulling him in tight, leaning up to bury his face against the god’s neck. He bit gently, fangs retracted and then sucked, leaving a mark that would claim Anders as his. 

The god shuddered as he felt Mitchell nibbling on his neck. Others had died this way but he knew he could trust the vampire implicitly. He knew his Mitchell. He savored the thought… _his_ Mitchell. They had both known they needed to change but had no idea how to proceed and then the real gods of the universe, with their typical Puckish sense of humor had thrown them together. God and vampire – he didn’t know if they could save each other but he thought that at the very least they could make each other’s lives a damn sight better. He cuddled Mitchell against him smiling as he heard him purring softly. Definitely a damn sight better. Tomorrow he had some phone calls to make and people to introduce to his beautiful miraculous Mitchell.

**Author's Note:**

> The band is Clanadonia [Clanadonia - Tu-Bard](http://youtu.be/dsbGWmLTwIA)
> 
> A big thank you to my beta readers: Ceallaig, missaristocrat and hiddlespeare!
> 
> This whole fuzzy fic was inspired by a scene I wrote for another story and by this picture of Mitchell. Need I say more?
> 
>   
> 
> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/JaneGael/media/MitchBareandSweatysm_zps36999d01.jpg.html)  
> 


End file.
